


Making Memories: Round Two

by Desdimonda



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Choking, Facials, Hand Jobs, Happy Sex, It's quite light though, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Or more like Power Bottom Bucky Barnes, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Is Fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 15:12:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13929696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdimonda/pseuds/Desdimonda
Summary: Bucky can't sleep since he's been unfrozen from cryo. He's slept enough.Steve catches him trying to sneak away from their guest bedroom in Wakanda, and Bucky doesn't realise it's also midnight on the day of his birthday. Steve hasn't forgotten, though.





	Making Memories: Round Two

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to thank my lovely friends in the CapRBB Slack for joining me in writing sprints to help get this done. And just in general for being wonderful in welcoming me into the fandom. 
> 
> I'm still such the new blood in it, but I'm so happy to be here.
> 
> You can find my tumblr here - [lady-windrunner](http://lady-windrunner.tumblr.com) where I post some art too when I can.

How was it not the dead of night already? Bucky briefly glanced at the clock. It was before midnight. He was sure it was at least 3am. It was so soft, peaceful, comfortable. Fresh sheets bunched between his fingers as he sat at the edge of the bed, staring at his bare feet pressing onto the stone floor. Even that wasn’t cold.

Part of why he’d went to live on the plains in a hut was that it was closer to what he knew. The harder beds; the ground, if he needed; the thin veil of home and wild; the separation of himself, from everything else. 

There were good parts to his quiet isolation. The beauty of Wakanda was a step away and the children loved to visit him, breaking his solitude now and then. One thing that had hit him was how unafraid of him they were. For all he’d brought for seventy years was death and fear.

Now, what did he bring?

He moved the fingers of his new arm, slowly, watching the moonlight catch on the golden lines between the black. 

He was still figuring that one out.

Bucky glanced behind his shoulder at Steve, peacefully asleep, his arm stretched over where he should be and rose from their bed. T’challa had given them this guest room for as long as they needed. Bucky knew he should be savouring every moment they had in it, together. But he couldn’t even manage the basics of sleep.

He grabbed his jeans, quietly pulling them on, his bare feet soundless on the floor. Some things, he’d never forget.

He padded around the warm stone floor, looking for his discarded shirt, when he heard the sheets shuffle. Bucky paused, motionless, and held his breath, thankful he was bathed in the shroud of shadow.

“I can’t remember the last time I woke up and you were there,” said Steve, kicking off the sheets as he pushed himself to the end of the bed.

Bucky looked down at his arm, the bright gold glistening from the ray of moonlight he had missed. He sighed. “This fucking arm.”

Steve smirked as he looked up at Bucky step out of the shadows from his perch on the bed. He held out a welcoming hand to his, beckoning him closer.

“Put on your shirt first next time.”

Bucky stared at Steve’s hand, upturned, welcoming, everything he had ever wanted, needed and desired. But did he deserve him anymore? 

“And also. Bullshit. I was still next to you when we woke up in the warehouse last week,” said Bucky, as he left behind the shroud of shadow, of doubt, and took Steve’s hand to join his side on the bed.

“Alright, I’ll give you that one,” said Steve with a laugh as he let Bucky get comfortable. He just held his hand. For now. Bucky was restless and uncomfortable. He wanted to be close - but not too much; he wanted to hold - but not restrain; he wanted to love with everything, with all, with the last breath he had - but only if Bucky was ready.

Bucky tucked his leg under the other, holding Steve’s hand tight, and said nothing.

“Where were you going?” Steve asked after a moment of quiet.

“The - my hut,” said Bucky, squeezing their hands. 

“You can talk to-” 

“What like you? Captain ‘I’ll punch the shit outta my feelings’ America?” said Bucky, dropping his hand.

“I’m not-” began Steve, trying to cumulate his defence, but quickly realising that there was nothing.

Bucky side eyed Steve as he pulled back his hair into a messy bun. “You’ve always been like that. Ever since I’ve known you. It’s just gotten worse.” 

“I just…” Steve paused. “You’re doing better, Buck?”

He just, nodded.

A shock of hair fell forward as he looked down, playing with his fingers. He went to tuck it behind his ear, but Steve was there first. Bucky leaned into his touch, eyes closed, the whisper of a moan glancing his lips. It was a small touch, light and careful, but it brought back a memory; a moment; a time before this - before  _ any of this -  _ in 1944 when Steve had dragged them to the top of a hill in the dark, and for an hour or two they had forgotten the world was at war, and it was just them, their love and the sky as their witness. It had been the last birthday he’d celebrated. 

And remembered.

Opening his eyes as he felt Steve’s fingers slide around his neck, Bucky looked at the holo clock on-top of the dresser. 00:07. 10th March.

Steve drew his thumb beneath Bucky’s eye as he cradled his head, the touch grounding. “Happy birthday, Buck.”

“I’d...forgotten,” he said, still staring at the clock as it blinked to 00:08.

“Luckily, I haven’t,” said Steve as his hand slid off and Steve stepped away. Bucky touched his lover’s arm as he moved, metal fingers glancing against warm skin, a silent plea for him to  _ stay.  _ “I’ll be a sec,” said Steve, touching the tips of Bucky’s fingers. 

Bucky just watched him, curious eyes wide. He’d never remembered his birthday. When he was Their Asset, he’d never had a reason to care. Then during the two years he was freed, it was the last thing he cared about. A birthday. An age. He was just trying to remember his  _ self;  _ his  _ worth.  _ The rest would come in time.

And the time for one, was now. 

Steve returned to the bed with a present; soft, wrapped in gold paper with purple ribbon, pristinely folded. “I was going to wait until the morning or sometime tomorrow with some nice lunch, dinner or evening walk to give you this. But,” Steve set held out the present, his sleepy eyes wrinkled with his broad smile, “now works.”

Bucky smiled as he began to pull at the ribbon. “You love your bullshit grand gestures.”

“I’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

Tearing at the paper, Bucky threw it and the ribbon aside. He hadn’t opened a present since the war. His heart was racing. It was odd again to be in a situation like this after so long. Something so simple, yet monumental. A moment he had starved for, but that which others took for granted. He supposed that was why he struggled to sleep next to someone, still. It was just, different. Loneliness he knew. But company, kindness,  _ love _ \- he had to remember them.

Bucky could feel his heart, so loud in his ears. But then it missed a beat. His breath caught in his throat as he held a navy blue jacket in his hands; new, but familiar, like the one he used to wear in the Howling Commandos. And beneath was a new pair of combat trousers. Brown. Pockets. The small Howlies symbol etched on his hip. 

_ Just like he used to wear as Bucky. _

“If there’s anything you want changed, just ask. I’m pretty sure they’ll fit. I sneaked some of your clothes out to Shuri. But she already had your measurements from cryo. So that was-”

Bucky met Steve with a messy, desperate kiss; a kiss that pushed Steve onto the bed; a kiss that made Bucky not remember why he couldn’t sleep. And this time, he was happy to forget. 

Pulling back, breathless, Bucky smiled against Steve’s lips as he talked. “I’ve also got a lot of time to make up for.” He kissed again, rocking his hips against Steve’s, silently cursing his great idea to put on his jeans. “And...thank you.” He whispered, cradling Steve’s face, the tips of his fingers glancing against the thick mess of blonde he’d let grow out. Bucky had grown fond of it longer. Very fond. 

“I gathered that from the kiss,” teased Steve, as he made to flip Bucky over onto his back, their matching strength still enough to surprise each other sometimes. 

But Bucky resisted. He locked his metal arm against Steve and pushed back off the bed, pinning Steve back in place, his hand wrapped around both wrists like a  _ vice.  _ He nudged his thighs into the nick of Steve’s waist, gazing down, the shock of hair Steve had tucked away falling forward as he smiled.

“This is the first birthday I’ve had since the war,” he said, tracing a finger down Steve’s neck, hearing a small moan and feeling a writhe beneath his thighs. He was already desperately hard. “Let me choose the memories we make.”

Steve bit his lower lip as he nudged his hips against Bucky’s. “Yes, Sergeant.”

“That’s Bucky to you, Rogers.” Bucky’s hand slid gently along Steve’s neck, the tips of his fingers cresting the edges of his beard.

“Not Captain tonight?” whispered Steve through a breathy laugh. He leaned into Bucky’s touch once, twice,  _ more.  _

“Not when I’m on top.” Leaning closer, Bucky hovered just above Steve’s lips, the tips of his hair brushing against his chest. “Stay,” he whispered. 

And he did.

Bucky crawled back and moved just enough to slide off his jeans. But before casting them aside, he pulled free the black belt and dropped it next to Steve’s head. He made quick work of Steve’s underwear, throwing it to the floor, delighting in the short gasps that passed his lips at the brush of his hasty touch. 

Pausing, his hands resting on Steve’s knees, Bucky stared down at his lover, laying still, his arms held above his head where Bucky had pinned them. He watched the way his muscles moved with every breath, some short and sharp - some long and deep as he curved his body towards Bucky, silently pleading for his return. His hard cock moved with him, proudly resting on his taut belly, the weeping tip glistening in the moonlight that spread over Steve’s body in a swathe of pearly hues, dipping over his muscles like a wave. It was almost ethereal. But it was  _ beautiful.  _

Bucky leaned forward, and slowly spread his hands along Steve’s thighs, one warm, one cool metal, until lips met the taut curve of the inside, the drag of his teeth coyly leaving a temporary mark. He kissed again further up. And again. Closer he moved to where he wanted to be. To the hot need that lay untouched. Steve had already reached to touch himself twice. But Bucky had gently batted him away, eyeing the belt at Steve’s head.

After another kiss.

Fingers traced the elongated v that crowned him and spread to the jut of his hip bone as he kissed. And a kiss at last met Steve’s need, but so did a guiding hand.

“Impatient tonight,” said Bucky with a smirk as he clambered up and grabbed his belt, pinning Steve’s hands behind him and as close as he could get them against the metal rails of the headboard. “I said, stay.”

“You think that’ll keep me?” challenged Steve with a smile. 

“You forget,” said Bucky, pausing as their lengths rubbed together, his back arching at the clench of pleasure. Taking the belt into his hands, thighs pressing tight against Steve’s sides, he began to wind it around his wrists, his arms and the bed posts. “We’re in a country  _ full  _ of vibranium.”

“In your belt?” said Steve, looking back at his bound hands.

“Go on,” he smiled, “try” whispered Bucky in his ear,  before sliding back down his body, inch, by, inch,

Steve did, and Steve failed.

He laughed softly, delighted to see every part of the Bucky he knew slowly coming back to him. 

Bucky had made a quick detour to the drawer beside their bed for their small bottle of lube, and it now sat between Steve’s thighs, warming up. 

He started with another kiss, two, more, at the base. Then a lick. Slow and purposeful, savouring the way his lover tasted against him. That, hadn’t changed. But how he sounded - that had. His voice was softer now. He spoke in a more even tone and took time with his words. That reflected in his laughter; in his sighs; in his longing moans that wrapped around Bucky like a languid melody, plucked from strings just for him. 

As Bucky sank down, the tip of Steve’s cock pressing against the back of throat over, and over; as his tongue rolled around his shaft, curling around and finding each spot like he’d been doing this for a hundred years - the song grew louder and longer, accompanied with a harmony of the belt buckle clattering against the headboard. 

He remembered how much Steve liked to  _ move.  _

And Bucky wanted to watch.

Drawing his mouth up Steve’s cock slowly, one last time, cresting his lips over his tip, Bucky drew himself up to his knees and picked up the bottle of lube, pouring a generous amount along Steve’s swollen cock.

“It feels good with the metal arm,” said Bucky, drawing a vibranium finger along the hot flesh; then two, sliding the lube where it wasn’t, his thumb rolling over the tip.

“Yeah. Good - good is a word.” Steve moaned for him, he moved for him, the light painting a piece on a new canvas every time his muscles shifted, changed, as he writhed beneath Bucky’s touch.

Bucky steadied himself with his other hand, splayed atop Steve’s stomach, and he watched. It was often a little different. Bucky liked to watch Steve take control of his pleasure with his hand while Bucky was helpless and could do nothing. But there was something so delectable about this. About seeing what  _ you  _ did to someone. Every nuance; every whisper; every touch.

He was doing just as he wanted - writing new memories, and it was with help from the old.

This was going faster than he wanted. Steve’s thighs were already trembling - the first sign that he was nearly there. It pained him to pull away his hand from Steve’s cock. It felt like it moulded into his vibranium hand; the hot, hard length slipping against the smooth metal and gentle ridges like it was meant to. He had hesitated even touching himself with this hand at the start. It’s strength had taken a while to grow accustomed to. But he got there. And when he did, it was hard to pull away.

“Playing denial are we?” breathed Steve through a kiss before Bucky straddled his chest.

“Playing it my way,” he said, picking up the bottle of lube. He began to lather his hands in it, taking it slow before Steve’s hazy eyes. Fingers slid together, around, echoing the motions he’d left behind on Steve’s length, and the ones he was about to give himself. A shock of hair fell from his bun, catching the moonlight - the light that illuminated one side of Bucky as he straddled Steve, casting a beautiful, bluey hue over his taut body. 

Steve pulled against his restraints again, the belt digging into his skin, dragging against the red, raw mark. He was sure the next one would draw blood. But he didn’t care. 

Bucky slid an arm behind and pressed a slick finger against his hole, rising slightly to his knees from his own touch. He nudged a finger in a little, just enough. Bucky liked little preparation. 

Then sitting himself back down, feeling the tip of Steve’s cock so close to his behind, where it wanted to be - but instead, untouched and cold - Bucky took himself into his metal hand, and gave Steve a show. 

His glowed, bathed in the breath of the moon, the gold lines almost twinkling like the stars against the inky sky every time he moved; every time his fingers slid up, and down, feeling himself in a new way  _ again.  _ There had been too many times that Bucky had to relearn himself and his body over the years. Even after his rescue from Azzano it didn’t feel right. It took days to let Steve touch him, and weeks to let him see  _ everywhere.  _

And now, these past...how many years? Three? That he’d truly been  _ awake,  _ he’d had to learn how he felt again, almost from the beginning.

As he looked down, catching Steve’s eyes, seeing that frustration, that desire, that longing to be free and touch every inch that pinned him down, Bucky felt like he at last understood his body.

But Steve - he’d never stopped.

Bucky leaned forward, digging his hand into Steve’s shoulder as he pulled against his restraints again, accompanied by a desperate whine. 

“Careful,” he whispered against Steve’s lips, letting him feel his hand move against his belly; letting him feel his hot, weeping tip drag against his hard muscles that rippled with every rasping breath.

“You keep saying that, Buck,” teased Steve as he rocked up his hips, nudging his cock against his lover’s behind. “But careful of what?” Steve’s smirk that followed was a challenge. And he knew. He could see the desire in Bucky’s eyes; the glint of mischief; the bite of his lower lip; the lines on his face from his smiles. 

And he could see happiness. Fun. Pure, unbridled joy. The one thing in the world Bucky deserved so much, but the one thing that had escaped him beyond all.

Drawing his hand along himself one more time, Bucky pushed himself up and back, feeling Steve’s need slip against his behind. Bucky didn’t reply yet to Steve. He just moved, wordlessly, holding his lover’s eyes as he guided himself back down, and onto Steve’s length. 

Steve swore. He pulled at his restraints, breaking the skin. His feet curled, twisting in the sheets as Bucky pushed down, down, carefully, slowly, his slicked bud so tight as he began to slide inside.

It didn’t take long for Bucky to adjust. This, was what he loved. The intensity of that wavering line between pleasure and pain; that beauty of how it caressed you with one hand, and clawed you with another. He took a moment basked in the moonlight, his body a snapshot, still, swathed in fingers of light and breaths of shadow. 

Then, reaching out with his metal arm, Bucky leaned forward and spread his fingers beneath Steve’s neck, the tips pressing into his sweat damp skin, turning it snow white.

“Careful, of this.”

It was a thumb first. It slid across Steve’s neck lightly once, twice. Then it pressed, feeling the shape of his lover’s neck; the bump of his adam's apple; the way it shifted and moved as he breathed; the vibrato of his moans and how they resonated through the vibranium, note by note. 

Steve pushed his head back, pressing into the pillow, exposing his bare skin for Bucky’s touch, and with that, he remembered the last time his metal hand had been around his throat. On that day on the bridge. When it wasn’t Bucky, but The Winter Soldier. When it wasn’t love, but death.

But tonight was about making new memories; it was about eclipsing the bad, and making  _ some good.  _

Taking a deep breath, Steve rocked his hips and met Bucky’s the rest of the way, crying out with a strangled moan as he sheathed all the way, at  _ last.  _

Bucky settled into a rhythm as he stretched around Steve’s cock, pushing inside, again and again, nudging his thighs against Steve’s waist for traction. But right now, that wasn’t the best part. His hand, wrapped around Steve’s neck, caressing, pressing, was.

He dropped down, near nose to nose, and watched, listened -  _ felt  _ \- what his touch did. His thumb was just the prelude. After a breath, he pressed down another finger, the metal claiming Steve’s skin; another breath, another finger. Bucky kissed him, stealing that breath, but still pressed a finger. Their rhythm he began to remember, almost unchanged from before they were parted; forgotten - but  _ not.  _ One’s body had a way of remembering even when your mind couldn’t.

Feeling Steve’s ragged breathing against his lips, Bucky pulled at his bottom lip just as he pressed his last finger, down. Even at his mercy, bound and breathless, Steve didn’t stop. It only made him move faster, harder, Bucky feeling the quiver of his thighs again. But he wasn’t going to stop it this time. He didn’t want to. 

They had all night.

Bucky was eager as he tightened his grip, hearing the whines and whirs of his arm as it tensed - but he was also so careful, knowing how powerful this touch could be. 

And then, as he watched Steve pine for a breath, as he felt a deep, desperate thrust hit his spot inside, Bucky let go, his fingers clicking smoothly. He stared at the imprint of his touch as Steve gasped for air, tugging at his bound hands.

“Make it quick,” said Bucky, his fingers dancing across Steve’s beard.

Steve laughed as he thrust again, and again, his legs quivering and his back arching.

“Yeah, you better,” he rasped.

Hearing a breath and another, Bucky was done waiting. He clamped down his hand again, pushing back against Steve’s motions. His touch had only helped. Steve didn’t relent. He just thrust harder. Bucky held on tight, his nails scratching against Steve’s shoulder. 

He let go. He kissed, running his hands through Steve’s hair. He could feel Steve almost there, and Bucky wasn’t far behind. The scratch of Steve’s beard felt so good against his - and his thighs. Oh that would be next. He hoped Steve kept it. 

“One more,” said Steve through their kiss, his words nearly lost through his moan.

One hand twisted through Steve’s hair, pulling back his head, and the other slid back around his neck, and pressed once more. This time was the hardest, the roughest, but it was just what Steve wanted, for within seconds, after a thrust, Steve came, spending himself inside Bucky, his hot seed spilling out messily.

Bucky relinquished his grip, gasping at the sensation, his body shuddering as Steve rode the throes of his orgasm, deep inside Bucky. His body curved beautifully up towards him, near lifting him off the bed. Bucky’s hands slammed against the headboard, steadying himself as the power of his lover took control, even with his bonds.

Trembling, Bucky watched, and he could no longer wait. 

Taking a deep breath, he eased himself off Steve’s cock, feeling his hot seed drip over his thighs, over Steve’s stomach and straddled his chest, thick thighs spread taut at either side of those impossibly broad muscles. Steve moaned, loudly, the absence of Bucky and the cool evening air making him swear. 

One hand still on the head board, he wrapped his vibranium fingers around his cock, leaning a breath away from Steve’s face, and eagerly stroked, dragging his fingers down the railings until they found Steve’s hair, and pulled. 

“Even the beard?” rasped Steve, unable to keep his languid eyes off Bucky’s hand.

“Especially the beard.”

Shocks of hair fell from his messy bun as he moved, sticking to his sweat soaked  shoulders. The room filled with the soft, melodic clicks and whirs of his arm as it moved, paired with his short, sharp gasps. He had grown quieter since his youth, the fear and uncertainty of himself shrouding his confidence in so many ways.

Why tonight?

Twisting his fingers around Steve’s hair, Bucky cried out. He moaned, freely, as his touch rolled up, and down. Up, and down. 

As he heard that moan and his body  _ felt  _ it, Steve couldn’t contain the joy in his smile.

Bucky trembled with another, and another, just as he rose higher onto his knees, just as his hand poised, as his body stilled, breathless, and he spent himself over Steve’s face, his hot seed spreading over hair, over skin and beard. 

With a messy hand, he cupped Steve’s face, running both hands through his hair and dropped down to kiss, to laugh, to lap up the warm cum that covered his lover’s face.

“Happy birthday to me,” said Bucky just as he drew his tongue along Steve’s cheek. 

“Bucky, you’re - you’re making it worse,” he said through a laugh, through a kiss. “Stop running your hand through my hair and lick faster.”

“Or.”

Steve raised a cum covered brow.

“Shower?” said Bucky as he began to unbuckle his belt.

“Then round two?” said Steve, quickly pinning Bucky onto the bed and rubbing his face against Bucky’s, their hair quickly becoming a wet, sticky mess. A chorus of Bucky’s laughter filled the room, and it was the best thing Steve had heard for years.

  
  
  



End file.
